


Zavvari's Misfortunes, Misadventures, and Mischief

by SakeBottle



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Desperation, Embedded Images, Fur, Furry, Gen, Illustrations, Omorashi, POV Female Character, POV Third Person Limited, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakeBottle/pseuds/SakeBottle
Summary: All she wants is to be a proper lady. Or at least act like one. Or at least make people think she acts like one.Some of her friends might say she's far from proper in reality, but as far as public appearances go... Well, she should probably stop drinking so much in public if she wants to act proper.
Kudos: 5





	1. Caught Short in Shimmerene

**Author's Note:**

> Illustrations by Jailor Eckman.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the unprecedented opening of Summerset Isle to foreign visitors, Zavvari has been given the opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity to prove that she can act like a member of high society among the highest society there is - and an opportunity to fulfill her fantasy of finally seeing the great marble towers of Alinor.
> 
> There's just one problem: customs enforcement at Shimmerene, the only entrance port on the island, is incredibly strict, and as it turns out most Summerset natives don't particularly care about any issues that might arise for a Khajiit who had been waiting for several hours to be processed and allowed through the gates. But, of course, for such a proper lady as Zavvari, there's no reason she can't handle it.

The Unforeseen Queen's decree had been exciting news when Zavvari first heard of it - the legendary island of Summerset, home of the Altmer, was to be opened to visitors for the first time since... The first time _ever_ , as far as she knew. But now that she was there, in the City of Lights on the Eternal Isle, all of that excitement had turned to dread.

Zavvari had known beforehand that the Summerset natives weren't exactly the most tolerant towards outsiders, and as such had made sure to put on her best dress and perfect her understanding of Altmer etiquette, but even so she hadn't expected such a cold reception. On a normal day, that might not have been an issue, but nothing about this particular day could be called normal - this was Shimmerene, the city where she had first set foot on Summerset Isle, a land of such formality that she could not solve her problems as she would have anywhere else.

And right now, Zavvari had some very big problems.

Even with Ayrenn's decree in place, the process of actually getting into the city from the docks had taken hours. Understandable, of course - the Thalmor officers stationed there had to strictly enforce local customs laws and keep out those who would seek to harm the Aldmeri Dominion - but that didn't make the consequences any more bearable. Though Zavvari had expected the process to take quite a while, there were a few very important things missing that she had been counting on, the most immediately-critical of which was a place to deal with the results of drinking so much tea while she waited to be allowed into the city.

At the time she hadn't thought anything of it - she had made sure to relieve herself an hour or two before pulling into port, and given her experience with Altmer from the lesser Summerset isles, Zavvari had not been able to invent any reason to avoid the (admittedly-delicious) local tea made available at the customs office. Traditional Altmer courtesy must surely have dictated that a guest such as herself should have her needs seen to, right?

Wrong, apparently.

Oh, sure, there _were_ facilities at the office, but when she felt herself needing them, she had found out that they weren't for her to use. But that wouldn't be a problem - just some security measures, no doubt, and Zavvari could just find an inn and get relief there, right?

Wrong again.

That famous hostility the natives had towards foreigners meant nobody would trust Zavvari to be left alone like that, so every establishment that she had tried had turned her down, leaving her to wander the streets in hopes of finding _somewhere_ that would tolerate her presence enough for her to use a toilet. The more she wandered, the less it looked like such a place existed, and after way too much tea and way too much time waiting and searching, Zavvari was in dire straits.

She was doing her best to keep up appearances, but she moved stiffly and under her dress her legs were as close together as possible, crossing whenever she had to stop to pick a direction at a crossroads. Her hands would have been a godsend, but there was no way she was going to hold herself like a cub in Shimmerene of all places, so she just had to accept the fact that her bladder was unbearably full and all that she could do about it was just keep walking. Even that, though, had its problems - with Zavvari as full as she was, every step sent a bolt of agony through her as the contents of her bursting organ shifted around and begged for an escape.

There was no doubt that she was attracting even more strange looks due to her behavior, but all of their judgment put together was nothing compared to the searing pressure in her abdomen - pressure that needed dealing with immediately, or else their judgment would only get worse. Surely she would find a place soon...

But only a couple of minutes later, even "soon" wasn't soon enough - a surge of warmth through her nethers, out into her underwear and the fur they concealed, convinced her that she needed to find a place _now_. There were still people around, and nothing resembling a business nearby. But there _was_ an alleyway within reach, just far enough out of the way that Zavvari might be able to get away with dealing with her emergency there. That had to be good enough. She had no other option.

And so, her personal fur getting damper by the second, Zavvari rushed to the alley, throwing her back against a wall and quickly looking around to confirm that no variety of Reeve or Thalmor official would catch her desecrating their city with her waters. Her cursory search revealing no such people, Zavvari leaned forward, pulling up on her dress as she attempted to lower herself into a squat.

But already she was out of time, her floodgates opening and the resulting torrent forcing her to spread her legs and lift her dress only high enough to be saved from the onslaught as she sprayed down the cold stone ground of the alley. Even now she continued watching for approaching mer, her position leaving her still very much in public while she violated at least a dozen different local laws. Tears welled up in her eyes and she bit her lip, her heart pounding as she prayed that nobody would see her until she was able to finish.


	2. Obstructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fancy armored thigh guards sure seemed like a good idea at the time - comfortable, fashionable, and perfectly functional! - but now, after spending hours in the sweltering jungle heat of coastal Black Marsh, and the near-constant drinking required to endure such conditions, Zavvari was painfully aware of just how difficult it really was to undress with stiff leather braces in the way. If only that had occurred to her sooner; maybe then she might have been able to fight through her overflowing bladder's agonized cries for relief long enough to work the many intricate knots keeping the leather pressed immovably against her legs, or else find some other way to free her womanhood from her clothing.
> 
> Then again, all of that water needed to be released sooner or later anyways; and if the time was right, no amount of fighting would keep it from coming out, be that into an Argonian toilet or a Khajiit's pants.

“Ahah, yes, thank you…” Zavvari gave a nervous chuckle and put on a strained smile as she shook hands with the Argonian who had been her guide through this village all day. She was shaking, her fur damp with sweat while she tried to keep her muscles tensed. The Argonians in this part of the Marsh were unfamiliar with some outsider customs, so Zavvari had both of her hands occupied with demonstrating the respectful gesture – and that was good, for it kept her hands from wandering to inappropriate places, even if she wanted them to.

She was just glad her tour of the village was over. Sure, Zavvari had grown up in the hot and humid forests of Elsweyr, but nothing could have prepared her for the truly oppressive climate in Black Marsh, and her only means of tolerating the conditions was to drink near-constantly. Thankfully she had brought a large supply of clean water with her, but for the last few hours Zavvari had been _very_ ready to leave all that water behind in the swamp. Her Argonian acquaintances couldn’t be allowed to know that, though; not when none of them ever appeared to be in her condition.

It certainly wouldn’t do her any favors to look weak on what was supposed to be a fairly formal visit, so even when her excessive drinking had started to catch up with her only an hour into the walk around the village, she just had to suck it up and deal with it until the end of the tour. Zavvari just kept telling herself that, even as more and more water collected within her. Halfway through her being shown the village’s many features, she was barely even listening to her Argonian guides over her bladder’s cries for relief, and all the drinking required to stay healthy had become a torturous process of forcing more and more water into a system that was trying to force that water _out_.

But even so Zavvari willed herself to act normal. She didn’t know Argonian customs for what she needed to do, and she didn’t want to jeopardize her image by asking about them – especially not when she figured the answer was likely to be that she should simply drop into a squat right where she was and spray the ground at her feet. Not in public.

She had been hoping that one of her guides would stop the group to water the trees, giving her an excuse to announce that she would go with them. Someone of high stature would never declare their need for relief unprompted, and Zavvari was trying her hardest to act like the proper lady she made herself out to be.

But no such thing happened, and Zavvari had been forced to endure hours of walking and drinking with her bladder becoming heavier with every step. Her poor tormented bladder, with its contents sloshing around as she moved, pressed agonizingly against her tight Altmer-style shirt and vest in an attempt to find more room for all that continued to flood into it.

And there was nothing she could do about it. If she could just open her belt and loosen the clothes over her belly, she might have been able to get just a little bit of relief. But she couldn’t even have that, and so she forced herself to remain sealed, even as her fancy garments crushed her bladder and threatened to squeeze out its contents as if it were fruit. Even as her fervent drinking continued, her thirst uncaring as to the crisis it was creating.

By the last hour, Zavvari had been ready to start crying, with only whatever scraps of willpower she could pull together forcing her to maintain composure. Water just kept flooding in and not coming out, even though there was no more room. When she stood still, the steel ball in her belly pressed down hard against her opening, creating a constant threat of spilling out into her clothes; and when she moved, that same ball bounced around within her, causing wild, agonizing fluctuations in pressure. And still she pretended that she was not on the edge of making water in her pants, in front of esteemed company, as if she were some _kitten_. No, Zavvari was an _adult_ in a formal situation, and an adult didn’t spill her drinks down her legs no matter how desperately she wished she could.

When the time came to say farewell to her guides, however, Zavvari didn’t feel much like an adult. There was a hot warmth pressing against her lips, and now that one leak had broken free, the waters she still held inside became all the more eager to flow out as well.

But somehow they didn’t. Somehow she was able to thank these kind Argonians for showing her their village and letting her stay in her own little lodge for a while. Somehow, trembling, slightly hunched over, and squeezing her thighs together as if her life depended on it, she was able to maintain her dignity throughout the tour. She had been shown to her lodgings, and after properly thanking her hosts by forcing the words out and showing them what a handshake was, she was nearly ready to _finally_ relieve herself of the boiling torture she had been forced to endure.

There was only one formality standing in her way. Zavvari couldn’t exactly dash into the house and immediately throw herself onto the toilet, after all. No, she still had to stay dignified even as she felt little rivulets running down her legs and soaking into her fur. She had to stand there and fight back against her overflowing bladder until the Argonians could leave, at the very least allowing herself the relief of performing a subtle pee-dance, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and bouncing on her heels while her hands played with her belt.

It hardly took more than a minute, but even so that minute was just as long as the six-hour village tour, and twice as painful. She was _so close_. Her bladder was heavy and visibly bulging in spite of the vicious squeeze of her clothes pressing back on it, but she was only a brief sprint away from a bathroom. Every second she spent standing outside the lodge door was a second she could have spent getting closer to relief. If not for the extended farewells, she could have dropped her pants to the floor and taken a seat on the toilet by now. She could have been squatting in the bedroom to violently and loudly spray down the insides of a chamberpot by now. Zavvari whimpered quietly as she watched the Argonians leave, their casual pace obviously intended to delay her for as long as possible at such a critical time, when the difference between watering the plants and watering her pants was a matter of moments.

And just when she thought she was on the wrong end of that scale, her guides had moved an acceptable distance away, allowing her to stiffly turn around, open the door to her lodge, and step inside at long last. Once inside, she was just barely able to kick the primitive wooden door closed behind her before she wound herself up into an agonized knot, legs wound up with her hands firmly between them while she fell into what was very nearly a squat.

With a growl she pressed hard against her unseen fur, feeling her waters at the edge and ready to break free, but by now her bladder was stretched to its limits, too far gone for her hands to ease the pressure. The flood was coming, and there was nothing Zavvari could do to delay it. She needed a toilet, and she needed it _now_.

She didn’t even have the time to realize that she didn’t know where the toilet was before she took off running. For all she cared, the first pot or vase she saw would be the toilet. To her great fortune, though, the lodge was small and Zavvari was able to push herself past the curtain leading to the bathroom without even thinking about it.

Immediately, she spun around and unhooked her belt, her hands then flying to her waistband to tear her pants down as she started lowering herself to the seat with her whole body trembling and her tail raised in anticipation.

There was just one problem. Zavvari felt her hands only leading her pants down to the top of her thighs before getting caught on something. She tried tugging harder, but still her pants refused to go any lower. But her bladder didn’t care, and sent a hot spurt from her nethers into her purple underwear that had only just recovered from her last leak.

“No… No no no no no,” she muttered. “No, not yet…”

With clenched teeth Zavvari looked over her shoulder to try to identify the problem. Past her wildly-thrashing tail, she could see that she had only pulled her pants down far enough to just barely expose her butt, and it was the thighguards she was wearing that stopped her from going any further.

“Nooooooo…” Zavvari let out a whine through her teeth. She hadn’t expected the thighguards to be a problem, and now she couldn’t think of a solution. “Ohh, please,” she begged her own urine. “Please please please don’t come out… Not yet…” Zavvari simply continued to tug at her pants, hoping that by some miracle the stiff immovable leather in the way would suddenly remove itself.

And when she started doing her business, her mind was so clouded by the feeling of her water spilling down her legs and her continued fight to hold it in a little while longer that she couldn’t think of anything to do. She didn’t know how to untie the many intricate knots pressing that leather against her thighs. She didn’t know how to free her maidenhood from her underwear so that she could sit on the toilet without getting anything wet.

Perhaps had she been less desperate, and not far beyond her limit, she might have known these things. But now all she knew was that she was making water in her panties, and it was running down her legs and into her pants. All she knew was that she wasn’t supposed to be doing that. She wasn’t supposed to be soaking her fur. She needed to stop.

And so, still shaking, still fighting, Zavvari kept whining. “Stoooop… No, no, no, stop…” She pressed her thighs together and stood dancing on her toes, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to cut off the flow.

But no matter what she did, it just kept coming, gushing from her lips and down her legs, splattering against the wooden floor just in front of the toilet. A veritable lake soon formed, and as she kept involuntarily doing her business the lake kept expanding, spreading her waters across the crude boards at her feet.

Eventually, Zavvari lost the energy to maintain her ineffective dancing, and when her feet fell still, she spread her legs and bent over, heaving a great sigh as she simply gave up. Her stream intensified, spraying out even harder and hissing even louder, almost ignoring the fabric of her underwear entirely as she forcefully spilled her drinks onto the floor.

And so, with her hands now on her knees, Zavvari started crying, her tears falling to the floor near-silently compared to the thunderous splashing of her urine. She couldn’t think of anything else to do. She couldn’t stop the flow, she couldn’t spare her clothes from it, and more importantly she couldn’t change the fact that she had lost control of her waters like a little girl, her expensive clothes soaked because she couldn’t act like a proper lady for long enough to pull her pants down. She had forced herself to endure pressure she hadn’t even thought possible before, in the name of preserving her dignity, but now that her dignity was seeping through the floorboards it had all been for nothing.

The only good part of any of this was that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been – she could have had her accident out in the streets of the village, in front of so many people. She could have made water right outside the door to her lodge, not even able to step inside before losing control. By comparison, losing her fight in the privacy of her own bathroom didn’t seem quite so terrible, except for the fact that she just kept peeing. There didn’t seem to be any end in sight, and so for what felt like ages Zavvari had to stand still, taking deep sobbing breaths, while she sprayed the floor and soaked her fur.

Her stream did eventually peter out, of course, but not until more than a minute after it started. And even when it stopped, Zavvari remained standing as she was for a while, still hunched over, the occasional tear still falling to the floor and splashing in the puddle her overhydration had caused. When she finally moved from there, she simply fell to her knees with a sigh, holding herself up with her hands and staring down at the floor while she tried to process her emotions. The pain was gone, but it had only been replaced with shame, and she needed to spend some time sitting in her puddle to deal with that.


End file.
